A Great Opportunity

           As many of you already know by my near-constant complaining about how demoralizing I find the road to publication to be (sorry about that, by the way), I have been on a roller coaster ride for the last few months—or more accurately, for the last year.  Last spring, I had this crazy idea to write a novel and I completed that task and rejoiced at the accomplishment because, let’s face it, not many people accomplish such a thing, at least none that I know.  Of course, that was just the beginning.  I found out that the original draft was nowhere near ready for the next step, which was querying for a literary agent.  So I worked with an assortment of critique partners—other writers in the same boat as I was—and polished my manuscript to a crisp spit shine.  Another major accomplishment, considering how much the narrative changed, and another rise on the roller coaster ride.

            I started querying in earnest—which I see as on the down slope because I hate it doing it—and received several requests for fulls and partials.  Yay!  Big ride up on that roller coaster.  Then came the ride down, for not only was I receiving near daily rejections to my query, I also received rejections for all but one of those requests, too.  I’m almost too afraid to contact the last agent to find out what he thinks.  I realize that if he liked it, he would have contacted me again to request more pages.  So down, down, down I go on the big, scary roller coaster. 

But I did have to take a break when I received a request for an exclusive read and while she ultimately turned me down, I found that break refreshing.  It was the flat part of the ride, the part where you get your bearings and take a breath in anticipation of the next hill or dip.  And while I have not been querying at all during this flat part of the ride, I have continued to read and comment on writer and agent blogs.  And, again as many of you know by past posts, one of my absolute favorite bloggers is the incomparable Anne Mini .   

            Her blog is very different from most bloggers out there.  She freely offers advice—a lot of advice—to writers pursuing their dream of becoming published authors.  As Anne admits, many find her blog posts a tad long-winded, and while she does generate an inordinate amount of words per post, I consider each one a gold nugget to be snatched away and horded with greedy pleasure.  You just cannot pass up that kind of advice and disregard it.  She is, after all, a published author with a boatload of awards and degrees and accolades, not to mention that she makes her living editing books for publication.  Why would anybody want her to be brief when sharing her hard earned information?  In fact, I find she raises questions in me that require I comment in order to alleviate my concern or confusion.  Yeah, I probably comment too much.  I often wonder if she cringes whenever she sees my name pop up at the bottom of her posts.  But if she does, she doesn’t show it and she always answers my questions or comments on my opinion.  

            Last week, she continued her series on pet peeves in material submitted to literary agencies.  She expressed how important it is for a writer who wants their story to be read in full by the agent to construct a first page with conflict while introducing the main character and telling the reader what the book is all about.  The way I read her post, I determined that she was advising us to start our novel off with a big bang, a blockbuster explosion, so to speak, to grab the attention of a tired, over-worked, bleary-eyed literary agent’s assistant—Anne refers to them as Millicents—who is the first obstacle a writer encounters on their way to the ultimate gatekeeper, the agent herself. 

This advice kind of took me aback and I commented to Anne:  “It seems like we should be tailoring our early content for the sole benefit of an over-worked, bleary-eyed, impatient Millicent so that she doesn’t hurl our beloved pages into the trash. It doesn’t seem right to fashion our stories in this manner. It feels much like pandering to me. I’d like to believe that Millicent doesn’t need the blockbuster explosions in line five of chapter one just to pull her into the story. Surely she is more sophisticated than that.” 

Anne advised me that that is just the way it is.  So I briefly explained the content of my first chapter—which actually reads more like a prologue, but prologues are out of fashion these days, so chapter one it is.  And my chapter one is only two-thirds of a page long, introduces the main character and delves into exactly what the story is about:  Can a good man who has been affected by outside forces to do an unspeakably bad thing, redeem himself and find the man he once was?  This leads into chapter two which does, in fact, have conflict, or so Anne judged by my description. 

            But a funny thing happened in our discourse over this issue.  She wrote me a personal email explaining that she was “intensely curious” about how I had structured my novel.  Since it would be difficult for her to give me further advice without actually seeing the pages, she had a proposition for me.  She wrote:  “Would you be willing to allow me to use the first two chapters as an example on the blog?  That way, I could give you specific feedback on a structure that does sound as though it might give some Millicents pause, and it might provoke some interesting discussion…It would involve a certain amount of bravery, but my gut feeling is that a professional reader might respond quite differently to these pages than a room full of writers.”

            Well, uh…hell yeah!  Of course I would love to provide my first two chapters to someone I admire and respect who, in turn, would evaluate its content, therefore making it better.  That was my first reaction.  Then I focused in on her words about it taking a certain amount of bravery on my part because, as she states, her “blog has a surprisingly large readership amongst Millicents and in publishing houses.”   Ooooh, scary!!  No really.  Scary!  But these are the exact people I want to read my pages.  These are the folks who determine what is read, what is voted on, who is contracted and what gets published in America today.  Yes, they just might ream me out, tear me a new you-know-what, embarrass me, humiliate me, ground me into the cold, hard earth, turn me into dust, a quivering mass of tears and nerves.  But they also might just make my content better which could, at some point, lead to another agent reading my material in full.  I would be insane NOT to want that. 

            Yes, I am afraid.  Very afraid.  When people have the chance to critique without being seen, they can be, and often are, fairly brutal.  They don’t hold back.  And since I have suffered a bit at the end of the rather large stick of rejection lately, I am concerned about just how hard I might take their criticism, but in the end, it’s all about making the book better, about getting read.  And Anne added that “It's never a bad idea to have those people know one's name!” 

            So here I go.  I’ve already submitted my first two chapters—about four pages total—to Anne.  She says it will be a few weeks since she is under a deadline to get a current client’s book edited for editor number three at Random House.  (God, how I envy that author who has Anne Mini editing her words!)  I don’t know what will happen.  At the very least, I pray that I receive advice that will turn my first pages into something that will eventually catch Millicent’s eye, that she will want to tell her agent boss about it, who will then be so intrigued as to request more pages.  So I consider this a big ride up on that roller coaster.  And while I do worry about the part where I come down, I know that part down can be a lot of fun if I look at it in the right way. 

My skin is getting thicker with each rejection, especially after the personal ones, the ones where the agent read my full manuscript only to turn me down without any real advice on how to make it better.  I guess I wouldn’t mind the rejections if they came with some constructive criticism.  But that’s not the way it works any more.  The agents and Millicents are simply too busy.  So this step with Anne, however big and scary, is one way in which I might actually receive some constructive criticism—constructive being the operative word here.  So, am I crazy to go through with this?  Perhaps, but I’m just telling myself to check my sanity at the door and enjoy the ride.         

      

Everyone Needs a Champion

Let's face it, I'm lost.  I don't even know how to get started finding my way back home.  For some reason, I decided to take a path with no roadmap.  And when I started, I didn't know anyone else in my life who had ever taken that road before.  So there I was, blindly barreling down an unmarked, uncharted road with no idea where it ended or the places I would travel through along the way.  I can tell you one thing.  It's a lonely road.  Sparsely traveled.  

I don't know what it is I'm searching for while I travel this road.  Some kind of fulfillment.  Another soul, perhaps, to ease the loneliness.  It's seems counterintuitive, choosing a lonely road in order to find someone to ease my loneliness.  And I can tell you, I am afraid.  Some days I wish I could just die already.  Because it would be so much easier to give up, to let God hold my hand and pull me along.  It seems so much easier than paddling against the current of my life.   

That road I'm traveling feels a lot like the edge of knife and I'm trying to find something to help me balance myself so I don't fall off.  And I feel compelled to rush along that edge instead of taking each step slowly and finding my balance before I take another step.  I mean, have you ever seen someone on a tightrope or a narrow tree that has fallen across a raging river?  The person crossing always seems to practically run across the bridge.  Running seems easier, doesn’t it?  That they are less likely to fall off?  Well, I think that’s my ignorance rushing me along.  My ignorance is my greatest enemy.  It’s like a road sign turned around the wrong way.  Or better yet, it’s like that person on the side of the road you ask for directions, only they don’t have a clue though they point and speak anyway, sending you on a wild goose chase.

I hate being lost.  I feel so out of control.  Lost and lonely.  Is there anything worse?  Probably not, but I have found a few things out along the way.  Though they are not right beside me on the road, I have a few champions who often help me out, shouting out directions or calling me up so that I have a familiar voice to coax me along, urging me to not give up.  It’s too easy to just plop down where I am and hang my head in my hands.  But when those voices call out to me, I sigh and pull myself back up.  It’s still not easy.  It takes a lot more effort to pull myself back up than it would have if I never stopped to begin with.  And I’m still a bit lonely, but knowing I have a few champions in my corner really helps motivate me, keeps me moving along, to find the end of the road and learn from the mistakes I’ve made along the way.  

I have my friends here in town who pat me on the back and reassure me that there are other agents to query, who might be interested in reading my full manuscript even though two have already taken a pass.  Yes, that’s right.  Super Agent X, the one I spoke of here, turned me down.  She was very pleasant, made a few complimentary remarks about strong elements to the narrative and had nothing bad to say except that she didn’t think she could market it as effectively as I would like.  At first, I thought, well I knew that was coming.  I thought I was prepared.  Boy, was I wrong. 

This second rejection on my full manuscript hurt much worse than the first since I had garnered it without any help from anyone along the way.  It was a crushing blow and it devastated me.  So much so that for the first time in my life—and that’s a not so short span of years—I was driven to drink, to drown my sorrows.  For the first time in my life, I took shots of hard alcohol.  Almost as if I was following in the footsteps of my poor misguided protagonist.  How ironic is that?  Funnier still, even though I drank at least half of that bottle of Silver Patron myself, I barely even caught a buzz.  There must be some lesson in there somewhere, right?  Maybe it’s that I should not allow myself to be thrown from the course, even if I am lost.  So here I am, picking myself back up, brushing myself off and craning my ear for those voices, the champions who occasionally shove me from the shoulder back onto the road. 

My husband is one of those champions, though he’s had his faltering moments, as well.  He tries to be stoic and support me even though he’s quite tired of seeing me cry.  He’s the one I have at home whom I see everyday, who gives me a smile and says, “Well, fuck her.  She’s not the only agent out there.”  I know it’s not easy for him either because he cannot be there beside me on the road.  He cheers me on from a distance, unable to steer me the right way because he has no clue which way that is.  But still, he is there. 

My true GPS is my friend, Lisa.  I have spoken of her many, many times.  She is my compass, my true north.  As I’ve said before, I would be completely lost without her, without any hope of finding my way.  She is the only one who also travels this road.  And while she does not stand beside me for the simple reason she is further down the road than I am, she does leave me breadcrumbs along the way. 

She’s been lost on the road many times and for a very long time, but she recently acquired a map in the form of an agent.  So she knows the roadblocks I am experiencing, the stalls and flat tires that slow me down.  She’s experienced them all.  And she cautions me, too.  She’s the big yellow sign that says watch for falling rocks ahead.  Sometimes I’m too busy keeping my head down to take notice and when I fall, Lisa is always, always there to pick me back up, brush me off, turn me back in the right direction and shove me along.  She is my truest champion and has never faltered even once. 

I know it is because she has been there and done that.  But it’s more than just a shove she offers.  Lisa is my one-man cheering squad.  She keeps telling me my book is great and could easily be on a bookseller’s shelf, that it has no problems to speak of.  She says it’s just a matter of finding that one agent who will become my next champion.  That I just need to persevere.  Keep on the road even though that road is long and winding, full of hazards and roadblocks that will slow me down.  She’s always saying she knows I will get published, that I am talented.  And coming from her, man, is that ever a compliment.  So Lisa is the reason that I hoist my big ass from the side of the road.  She’s the reason I keep putting one foot in front of the other, blisters, sprains, broken bones, and all.  She is my champion and I could not find my way down this long, lonely, winding without her. 

           God bless you, Lisa Regan!  

Why I Write

            A couple days ago, Jim McCarthy, an agent with Dystel & Goderich Literary Management, asked a question in his blog post:  Why do you write?  Well, I thought that was an interesting question and I pondered it for quite some time before answering, though in the end, I decided there was not one clear cut reason.  But for the most part, I wrote my novel to exorcise the demons from my head.  I will admit, I am not like most writers out there who have had a love of writing since they were children.  I mean, I’ve always loved to write, but I never felt compelled to do it, as so many writers say they are.  When I had to do it, I did, and I enjoyed it.  Nuf said.  But something happened to me over the last year and everything changed.  Now I feel like if I don’t write, I can’t breathe. 

            I can’t say I’ve enjoyed everything about this process.  In fact, the only part I actually do enjoy is the writing itself.  I kind of learned this the hard way over the last couple of months.  I’ve slaved over my manuscript: editing & revising, critiquing with partners and revising, reading it over and over again and revising…ad nauseum.   I like all that.  No actually, I love all that.  I didn’t mind when critique partners were brutal with me as long as they were constructive.  It made my story so much better.  But when all that was done and I thought it was ready for the next step, I jumped into the querying-for-an-agent process with both feet.  I was excited to be moving on and making real progress towards getting published.  And while I know and understand how impossibly difficult it is to first, find and agent, and second, find a publisher, I was astounded by how much I really hated that part of the process.  I’m sure most of that has to do with the rejection factor.  I mean, who the hell likes to be rejected by countless strangers who have never even read your work?  So, yeah, that part is quite demoralizing, as I posted about last time.  But that’s not really it.  That’s not why I hate it so much.

            I hate it because I’m not actually writing any longer.  I’m waiting.  I’m hoping.  I’m praying.  And I’m blogging.  But I’m not writing.  I know you might think that blogging is writing, but it’s not.  Not really.  I don’t really enjoy this blogging crap.  I watch my stats and I know people are reading it, but I don’t really know or understand why.  What could I possibly have to say that would ever interest people out there?  Especially strangers.  And except for one, all of my followers, the few there are, (on blogspot & tumblr) are strangers.  I don’t know what the hell they find so interesting to actually follow.  But I am grateful.  Really, really grateful.  I did a happy dance today when I scored a new one.  But still, blogging is not writing. 

I didn’t really think about how much I loved writing until I actually stopped doing it.  I only discovered this last week when I stopped querying in order to give an agent her three week exclusive read on my first three chapters.  Wow, I felt so relieved to not be querying.  I found myself thinking about my next story and that really excited me.  I just wanted to jump right in and start writing.  But I can’t because I have a ton of research to do.  And then I have to crank out an outline because I am not a pantster—someone who writes by the seat of their pants.  I am a planner.  I have to have everything planned out.  Once I have that outline in front of me, then I just go crazy and write off the top of my head.  It gives me the freedom to explore within a framework.  And I love, love, love that part of writing.  The first draft.  There are no rules.  You can just go crazy and write what you like and worry about how it will all work out later when you revise, revise, revise.  My best buddy, Lisa Regan has a great post on first drafts here.  She hit the nail right on the head.  She says she is happiest while writing her first draft and I could not agree more.

 There are so many other things about the process that make me unhappy.  First off, there’s finishing.  I cannot tell you how much I panicked when I finished my first draft.  Of course, being the idiot that I was at the time, I thought:  That’s it?  I’m done?  Really?  But I don’t want to be finished.  I can’t just drop my characters—whom I love so very, very much—in happily-ever-after-land and call it a day.  I need them.  I want them.  I didn’t realize that I would spend more than four times the amount of time that I originally spent on the first draft just to edit and revise, edit and revise, edit and revise, blah, blah, blah. 

So I was far from done with my beloved characters, one of whom I fancied (okay, fancy) myself in love with.  There, I said it.  I’m in love with a fictional character.  I get it now.  Back in the day when all those Twihards (those crazy fans who love Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series) were carting signs around at the movie premieres extolling their love for either Edward or Jacob, I thought they were a little over the top.  But I do so get it now.  I think the part I hated more than anything was saying goodbye to my characters and their world.  I even blogged about it once.  (You can read it here if you’d like.)  I lived in their world for months on end.  I experienced their crushing losses, their fear of death, their sadness and finally their joy.  After all that, I found it unbearable to say goodbye.  And to be honest, I haven’t completely left them behind.  I just don’t visit as often anymore.

Second to that, I had to start the hard part, the summing up of everything in as few words as possible, be that one, three or four pages, or even worse, 250 words.  That’s crazy, summing up an 85,000 word manuscript in 250 words while in the same voice and sense of urgency.  But I did it.  And pretty quickly, too.  So then it came time for…you guessed it:  querying.  Now, I have blogged about querying several times already.  I started off very excited (read here) and have recently ended, or suspended anyway, rather demoralized, though I learned quite a bit (read here).  Simply stated, I don’t feel productive any more.  The only world I am living in now is one of loneliness and rejection. 

I’ve read on several agent blogs how important it is to start on your next project while querying for your last.  I haven’t been working on my next project yet because researching agents and writing customized query letters is very time consuming.  I at least wanted to have a complete list of agents to query before I started on my next project.  So that’s where I am now, compiling a full list.  I have sent out quite a few queries already and so I am rounding out my list.  But when I went on query hiatus to allow for that exclusive I told you about earlier, I found I was calm and happy again.  I didn’t cringe at waking up every day knowing I would only be working on that damn list.  I could enjoy my days again.  That told me a lot: that I needed something else to focus on besides querying. 

Unfortunately, I’m still not ready to start my next project.  That will require a lot of focus and energy.  I never do anything half-assed.  My ass is all the way in, even when I am screwing up.  So I still have to wait to finish my list before I can move on, but now I am looking forward to starting that process all over again whereas when I was querying exclusively, I thought to myself: why did I ever start this?  I was so much happier before when I didn’t know how much I loved to write.  But in the end, I wrote my novel to exorcise a few demons from my head.  And it worked.  I used to have nightmares about an event in my life, but writing a fictionalized account has chased those demons away, so I don’t regret it.  And besides all that, I made the friendship of a life time with my beloved Lisa, whom I adore and respect and idolize more than anyone else in my life.  She saved me.  She taught me.  She helped me stand up each day.  I would be lost without her.     

I admit this is a tough process, writing novels.  Every step of the way.  And when you have triumphed upon finishing, the hardest part is still yet to come.  Look at poor Natalie Whipple.  She has written a bunch of books and finally queried and landed an agent for her last only to go on submission and not have any publishers pick up her novel.  She was incredibly demoralized by that.  So now (read here), as she has finished the final draft on her next project, she is so nervous about being on submission while living her life in the public blogosphere, she has decided, after receiving some insensitive email, not to blog about writing or publishing until she lands a publisher because it is just way too difficult. 

            I don’t know what it is about writing and seeking to get published that wears on one’s nerves.  I can easily see why so many writers have gone insane or killed themselves in the process.  There are so many extraneous pressures and most of them are intangible, elusive or hard to pin down.  It’s crazy.  And I’m crazy to want to do it all over again.  But I write so I can breathe.  I write so I can live.  I write so I can share.  I just hope someday I will actually be able to do that.  I don’t give a shit about the money.  Sure it would be great to make money at it, but I just want people to read my stories and enjoy them.  Fingers crossed, I can do that someday. 

Querying for an Agent: What I've Learned So Far

It has been a couple of weeks since I last sat down to write a blog post.  I promised myself I would try to post at least once a week, but I’m feeling a little off these days.  I think—no wait, I know—it’s all the querying I’ve been doing lately.  Was it only a couple of months ago that I was so gung-ho about starting the querying-for-an-agent process?  It feels more like a lifetime and I’m beginning to find this the single most demoralizing thing I have ever done in my entire life.  And that is no small amount of time either.  I’m not exactly a wet-behind-the-ears third-year college student with stars in my eyes.  Well, I might have had stars in my eyes, but I am a bit longer in the tooth, as they say. 

I first approached this process with fearless optimism, but now find I have been ground down to more of an unwilling participant, too stubborn to simply give up.  But I must say, I have learned a lot during the last few weeks, mostly through mistakes—rookie mistakes, from what I gather.  Perhaps I am looking at this the wrong way.  Maybe I should be looking at this as more of a learning process.  But I don’t really want to see it that way because I have a book I love and I want to find someone else who loves it, too.  Someone who is willing to work with me to make it the best it can be and then find a home for it at a publishing house.  If I simply look at this as a learning process, I feel like I am giving up on my manuscript, chalking up every lost opportunity to land an agent as a burned bridge, never again to be crossed.  Well, I’m nothing if not diligent.  So onward I go.  But let me sum up for you what I have learned along the way, so hopefully if you ever find yourself in the same place, you can learn from my mistakes.

Well, first I should own up to the fact that I have made some of those rookie mistakes so many agents and editors blog about, like not editing my first draft before I started to query.  Mind you, it was more of a fishing expedition for me, and by that I don’t really mean that I was fishing for an agent so much as I was feeling the process out.  I only queried a small handful, perhaps seven or so, but I did proceed long—way long—before I was ready.  But okay, I learn fast, at least I like to think I do, and I did what I was supposed to do next.  I read and reread my manuscript and buffed it out a bit.  Then I searched for and worked with a number of critique partners who helped me polish it to a gleaming spit-shine.  But once again, I jumped into the querying fray.  And I did not simply dip a toe into the pool this time.  No, I jumped in with both feet.  Trouble is, I forgot to change into my swimsuit. 

Yes, I will admit, I was very close to being ready, but I was not quite there.  Yet I pushed on and forced the issue.  Besides the obvious, there were a couple of problems with this.  First, I had a friend who had an agent that was willing to have her arm twisted by her beloved client and read my full manuscript at her request.  Whoa, an “in,” I thought.  Wrong!  It turns out, a simple read through means nothing if the material is not ready, really, really ready.  And, as I said, I was not quite there.  But I did not discover this until I had hit that damn send button.

Well, unbeknownst to me, hitting that send button has a rather disheartening effect on the psyche.  It made me doubt my work enough that I just had to give my manuscript another read-through.  And what do you suppose I found as I read through?  That’s right…mistakes.  Not just grammatical errors, though there were a few of those.  I’m talking about stiff dialogue, telling instead of showing, a few too many adverbs and the like.  It wasn’t bad, but then again, it wasn’t good enough either.  But too late.  My friend’s agent had it in her hands, so to speak, and there was nothing I could do about it. 

Of course, she rejected me after nearly a month’s time, but that “in” had set the bar kind of high for me and missing—or ruining, I should say—that opportunity for myself was like a swift kick in the teeth.  But okay, it was a learning experience, however painful.  I was not ready.  So I read and reread, revising and writing new content, having my beloved critique partner (the one with the agent) blast away at it and whip it into shape.  Onward I go, compiling my query list.  Well, actually, I lie.  I was using, for the most part, my friend’s query list.  She had spent countless hours on the Publisher’s Marketplace website gleaning information, compiling the list of agents perfect for her manuscript.  So, she says, since our novels teeter on the same provocative subject matter, this list should work well for you, as well.  Enter my third mistake though I would not say it was a rookie mistake.  I have never heard or read anywhere about this so how was I to know?  But since I had dipped my toe in all those months ago and burned those very few bridges, I should have known better.  Do not query those agents you deem the best fit for your project right off the bat. 

Now I realize this seems counterintuitive, but hear me out.  Like I said, querying is a learning process.  Unless you’ve had experience doing this before, chances are you don’t have it down to a science just yet.  Not many queries are perfect out of the gate and this is something the aspiring writer does not realize until they have received rejection after rejection.  It is only then that they take the cues and rework their query.  So why would said aspiring writer send out an early query draft to his or her favorite agents?  Yep, bad move on my part.  I know, it’s only natural to want to give that special opportunity of representation to your favorites, but if your query is not quite ready, much the same way your manuscript was not quite ready, then why would you want to waste your learning chances on your favorite agents?  See what I’m getting at here? 

So I barreled through my friend’s perfect list of perfect agents, sending out several queries a week.  But once again, the bar was set a little too high for me.  Much to my surprise, I got a hit on my first week.  Super Agent X requested a full manuscript an hour after I sent her the query.  Whoa!  Well, as you can imagine, that sent bolts of electricity shooting through my body.  A request for a full!  Surely that must mean my query is kick-ass, spot-on perfect, right?  Ah, well…no…not so much.  But once again I was energized by the vote of confidence, this time by someone I did not have an “in” with.  I shot my manuscript off to her without waiting, like my editor / blogger goddess Anne Mini suggested on her oh-so-wise blog.

Of course, there was that zap when I hit that damn send button again.  Another push to read through my manuscript so I could reacquaint myself with the material I had just sent out.  And yeah…you guessed it.  It was not quite there yet.  Almost.  Maybe 93%.  But my goal was 95%.  A number set by several blogging agents out there.  So here I am, with regrets about sending out my full manuscript for a second time before it was ready.  And this agent is like Julia Roberts is to the acting world.  A real superstar.  And I sent her my manuscript before it was ready.  Or at least 95% ready.  How f-ing stupid can I possibly be?  Well, as it turns out , pretty damn stupid.

So as not to be totally demoralized, I continued to send out queries.  Mind you, it was after I fixed those remaining problems I saw in my manuscript after the Super Agent X read through, but I knew I had most likely ruined an outstanding opportunity.  I have not, as of yet, heard back from Super Agent X.  It has only been about six weeks and I know it takes a long time for a busy agent to read through her stack of manuscripts.  So I am still hopeful, but I am also a realist.  I pray she can see past some of that stiff dialogue in chapter three.  After all, that was the only problem I could see in the material I sent her, but still, there should never have been that kind of problem. 

Oh well, it is what it is and I had to move on.  And I did.  I continued to work my way through that substantial perfect agent list.  I did receive one request for a partial and I sent it out with confidence that it was good to go.  I don’t have any qualms about that submission.  But after sending out those queries in the last month and a half, I have only received one more request, though I will admit , she is a real winner.  Yes, that bar was set rather high early on and I am beginning to think that is not such a good thing, at least for my self-confidence, but perhaps my query was not so kick-ass, spot-on perfect as I first thought.  Too late.  I’ve already sent out a few too many queries.  And to the ones best suited to my kind of project, too.  

This is me kicking myself in the head.

So now I am compiling a new list. One of my very own.  I am spending an inordinate amount of time researching each and every one of these agents to make sure they are a suitable fit, but I am not as experienced as my friend who compiled the original perfect agent list so I have no idea if these new additions will work for me.  So I am completely demoralized to have burned through my list of perfect-fit agents during my preliminary trials of first-time querying.  And now I am on query-hold at the request of one agent who wants an exclusive.  Am I an idiot?  (Okay, don't answer that.)  Of course, I will give her whatever she wants if she wants to give me a chance. 

My whole point is that this is a lesson to all you aspiring writers out there with a much beloved project you think might be ready to go.  Read through your manuscript in hard copy, out loud, and in its entirety.  And then do it again and again and again.  Then send out that query you think is so perfect to agents that fit, but not necessarily those you think would be the perfect fit.  Give it time, allowing a couple of months to roll by before you send out more queries.  This will allow you to see if your query is garnering requests or not and is therefore effectively attracting wanted attention.  And before you send out any requested material, read it through as if you had indeed sent it out.  Read it through with another’s set of eyes in consideration. 

As an update, I have received about thirty-three rejections thus far.  Each one another brick added to the load I carry on my weary shoulders.  Each one a demoralizing stab that I am just not good enough.  But I am trying to keep in mind that I have still not heard back from the great majority of agents and while I know I probably never will, many agents seem to say that they do, in fact, respond to every query over time.  

So there is still hope and I hold onto that hope like a life preserver.  I often picture this process like that of a human egg being fertilized by sperm.  Here I am, one of a million little sperm, swimming against the current, nudging along the periphery of the hard-edged shell of one little egg, knowing that only one of us will eventually be admitted while the rest of us are washed away, out to sea.  It is a one in a million chance, but then I also play the lottery from time to time.  What is life without a little hope that we can achieve our dream if we are but persistent?  Never give up, I say.  No matter how heavy that load gets.  What do I have to lose except a little self-confidence and pride?   

I Have a Dream...Too

            For as long as I can remember, I’ve led a charmed life.  Not in any tangible way.  I’m not wealthy.  I’m not famous.  I’m not even popular.  But I have always had all those things in life that truly matter.  That make a person fulfilled and happy.  Growing up, I had two parents that loved me and put their children before all else.  I had two brothers who were always kind to me—well mostly anyway—one of whom treated me like a best friend for many years.  I had the best education in wonderful schools, mostly private Catholic institutions that instilled a feeling of belonging and spirituality.  I got to travel and I lived in many interesting locations, exposing me to different people and cultures. 

            When I was barely an adult, I met the most incredible loving man in the world who gave me the most precious gift another person could ever give:  a child—two, in fact.  I’ve had the great fortune of raising one of those amazing children and he is so smart and articulate, kind and generous, loving and supportive.  And my husband is what every woman in the world wants in a man.  I hit the jackpot.  There’s no other way to put it.  And while there are, of course, many other things I want, I do, in fact, have everything I need.  So I am happy.  Content.

            Lately, I’ve been watching the American Idol judges whittle their list of hundreds of aspiring singers down to the top twenty-four.  I watched as the last forty or so walked that long, lonely course up to the final judging platform.  It was inspiring to see the faces of those who made the cut, but it was the faces of those who did not that struck me most.  It affected me more this time than any other because I finally realize what it’s like to have a dream.  A really big dream.  One that seems nearly unattainable.  One that means so much, my entire identity is wrapped up into it.  So when those who were cut stood from their seats and took that long, even lonelier walk back, their faces wet with tears and their hearts crushed with loss, I understood and I cried along with them.

            Because I have a dream, too.  It is a modest dream when compared to Martin Luther King’s or John Kennedy’s.  I don’t aspire to unite the world or solve a lifelong dilemma.  I’m not trying to cure what ails us as a species, make buttloads of cash, or become well-known.  I just have this little dream of becoming a published writer.  But that dream starts with a smaller dream—or rather two smaller dreams.  The first, I’ve already accomplished.  I wrote a novel.  My first in what I hope is a long line of them.  When people hear for the first time that I completed a book, they smile and say, “Wow!  That’s amazing!”  It was quite an accomplishment for me and making it the best it can be has been even more so.  But while I once told myself if nothing ever comes of it, I will still always be proud, it really doesn’t ring true any more. 

I want the whole dream.  So the next step is finding a literary agent who loves my book and wants to represent me.  I did not know about this when I started writing.  I did not once during all those months even think about the next step.  I just wrote.  And when I was finished, I jumped on the Internet and researched the next step.  Boy, was that ever disheartening.  There are so many stores out there of aspiring writers who have been crushed by the system, their dreams destroyed and their hopes dashed.  Reading all that felt like a glass of water was being thrown in my face.  Or maybe more like a five gallon bucket of ice water.  But I’ve tried to keep in mind that I really don’t have anything to lose.  I have the product, my book.  No one can ever take that away from me.  Now, I just need to be persistent.  To not give up.  To not let the process beat me down with every rejection I receive. 

I can tell you, that is a difficult feat unto itself, not letting the rejections beat me down, I mean.  To be perfectly honest, when I finished my first draft and made my first round of revisions, I did what countless other aspiring writers have done:  I started to query for an agent.  I did this before I even had my first round with a critique partner.  I didn’t query many agents, mind you.  Just a small handful.  And it was more about feeling out the process than anything else.  But I did get a few rejection letters.  Four or five, I think.  And it did hurt.  I won’t lie.  But I learned quickly the proper way to go about it all. I worked with several critique partners and polished my little novel to a spit shine.  Then I wrote my synopses—four of them, I think.  And lastly, I wrote my query, summing up 85,000 words into roughly 260 in order to ignite some spark of interest in as many agents as I could. 

Just over three weeks ago, I began sending out those query letters.  Mostly in limited batches of five to seven.  I researched each agent to make sure I was querying only those with an interest in my genre, the thriller.  I found out what each agent wants to see in their query package, be that a letter only, sample chapters or even a synopsis.  On the second day of querying, I received a request for a full manuscript.  This was actually my second request for a full, but the first was kind of cheating as my friend asked if her agent would look at mine and she did as a favor, but it was not to her liking and she passed.  The second request hit me like a ton of bricks—albeit, really nice bricks.  I thought, cool, my query letter is good then.  Well, this is a subjective business as so many agents are willing to tell me.  And they tell me in the form of…you got it…rejection letters.

To date, I’ve received about 14, total.  They kind of slide off my back now, but each and every one of them serves as a lost opportunity, a burned bridge, if you will, because I can never go back to them.  They are forever beyond my reach now.  So I do sink a little lower every time I receive a rejection letter.  That pool of possibilities grows that much shallower.  And now I am beginning to question that query letter I thought at first was pretty good.  Maybe I will have to revise that, too.  Maybe it is too vague.  I did get my first request for a partial.  The first fifty pages.  The tiniest of smiles pulled up on my lips when I read that request yesterday.  That’s a big shift from the five minute long screaming happy dance I performed when I got that request for a full three weeks ago.  I think I am becoming jaded.  My head is slipping into that place all those aspiring writers have before me, believing that the chance of ever finding representation is so miniscule, so impossible as to be laughable. 

But then I read this blog yesterday.  It was written by aspiring writer, Claire Legrand, and expresses her joy, which feels palpable through her words, at finally acquiring an agent.  And it was not an easy or pretty experience for her.  She went through hell, but she never gave up.  She found her agent while querying for her second novel.  And now she might even have a chance at selling her first as her agent is standing behind her.  I cannot tell you what it meant to read her reaction to landing an agent.  It felt like that tiny speck of hope inside me suddenly puffed up like a kernel of popcorn in the microwave.  In her last post on Monday, Claire explained just how difficult the process had been for her.  Her final message was one that my friend, Lisa has been telling me all along:  “Don’t give up.”

And so, no matter how many rejections are piled up on my shoulders, I vow to not give up until I have worked my way through a very long list of agents who rep my genre of fiction.  And by then, enough time will have gone by that I can start all over again because no one will likely even remember me.  Lisa did that and she landed her agent.  So what the hell.  I want that moment like those finalists on American Idol.  I want to scream and cry and jump up and down knowing I have come a little closer.  Because I have a dream, too.                     

Why I Blog: Following My Journey

           Last week, I wrote a post on blogs I love to read.  This week, I want to touch on why I blog myself.  To be honest, I never really had much interest in reading blogs or writing one either.  When I finished writing the first draft of my novel, The Mistaken, last summer, I started researching how to get published.  I found websites and blogs that shared all kinds of interesting information on writing, finding an agent and getting published.  The best blogs were those maintained by literary agents like Nathan Bransford and Query Shark’s Janet Reid, and writers like Anne Mini and Natalie Whipple.  Many of them mentioned how important it was to have an Internet presence such as a blog where agents or editors could check you out.  I thought, what the hell.  I can do that.  But I really didn’t know what in the world I should talk about.  And who would ever want to hear what I had to say anyway?    

I began checking out other writer blogs, people like me who were considered aspiring writers, yet unpublished.  (By the way, I hate that term “aspiring writer.”  I don’t aspire to write.  I do write.  I aspire to be published.  Big difference in my mind.)  A lot of them seemed to be simply daily journals, log accounts of their days, their lives, their families.  And while they might have been well written, they didn’t really interest me much.  I didn’t care about their “chipmunks,” their “rugrats” or “ninjas” or whatever they referred to as their children.  I wanted to read about their writing experience, their journey to become published authors. 

So I thought, that’s what I will focus on, detailing my trials and tribulations, my joys and heartaches, my quest to become a published writer.  And since it has been a rather emotional journey thus far, I found it easy to dig within myself and write about things that have affected me along the way.  It’s been a surreal experience, so I blogged about how I first got started on this wonderful trip and why I decided to take it in the first place, what I have discovered about myself along the way and who has influenced me.  I discovered my book’s theme, how music influenced my writing and having faith in the process.  Months later, when I was finally done with the revisions, I blogged about querying for an agent (a work in progress) and how much I missed living inside my story every day.  I even, ashamedly, blogged about my jealousy at the ease of which some celebrities find success in publishing.  (Sorry about that one!) 

I don’t know who reads my blog or if they are interested in those things, but I found when I read about similar accounts by other writers, I was buoyed by their tenacity, their unfailing faith that they would make it even though it is a painfully long and disheartening process.  Sometimes, though, just reading about how difficult it is for them makes me believe it will never happen for me, getting published, I mean.  But I won’t give up.  A part of that “not giving up” is continuing to blog every week or so.  Sometimes I just don’t know what to write.  I do keep a log on my phone when a blog idea pops into my.  I will roll the idea over in my mind, especially at night, even when I’m sleeping.  That’s a habit with me, dreaming about I should write about, be it my book, my revisions or my blog. 

A few of the writer blogs I read have a great many followers, folks who have signed up to follow their progress, read their writing and ramblings.  I think it’s cool that Natalie Whipple has 1300 followers even though she is not yet published.  1300—wow!  And Adam Heine’s Author’s Echo blog has about 150 followers.  (He’s amazing, by the way.  Very knowledgeable.)  Now, they have been blogging for five and four years respectively while I have only been doing so since last October—five months to date.  I do have four followers though, four generous people who I don’t know and, for whatever reason, have chosen to follow me—a nobody, a complete unknown.  And I am most grateful for those folks.  (I thank you from the bottom of my heart, really.)   

I don’t know how to cultivate more followers.  I am more or less a complete technical idiot and don’t know how to make my blog appear like I want it to.  I don’t know what gadgets are or how to insert photos and manipulate them.  I just picked a basic (and free since I’m a poor, struggling “aspiring” writer) template and added a bit of content—posts and pages.  I joined Networked Blogs through Facebook upon the advice of one of my followers, Laina Turner.  That has brought me quite a bit of traffic.  At least I think so, since I am a complete unknown.  And hey, I even got my first comment from someone I don’t know personally (no offense to my wonderful friend, Lisa Regan, who sometimes offers me encouraging feedback.)  That was exciting for me.  Silly, I know.  But hey, I am a complete unknown, a nobody.  I love getting comments no matter who they are from. 

I’ll keep working on this blogging thing, especially since I am now querying for a literary agent.  When I send out batches of queries—I’ve sent out about 28 so far—I tend to get a bit more traffic.  I think, wow, someone with power and influence might have just read words that I wrote!  And then I kind of panic and think, wow, someone with power and influence might have just read words that I wrote!  Oh no!  What was I thinking?

           This whole writing kick is such an unknown monster to me.  I am enjoying though.  I’m not technically proficient at it, my education was focused on architecture and design, not creative writing, but hey, I like to think of it as being intuitive for me, like playing the piano.  I’ve never taken a lesson, nor can I read music (at least not easily or well), but I can play some rather difficult pieces by Chopin, Mozart and Beethoven.  I have an ear.  I can pick a song out on the keyboard just by listening to it and sounding it out.  Hopefully, I will find an agent who feels the same way about my writing.  In the mean time, I will keep blogging and hoping that others will like what I have to say or at least get something from it.  And maybe a few more will follow me along the way.  It would be nice to have a few more companions because I think my journey will be a long one and I could really use the company! 

Blogs I Love to Read

            It has become a habit for me when I wakeup each morning to grab my iPhone off my nightstand and, before I even get out of bed, peruse my favorite blogs.  I read mostly writer, literary agent and publishing blogs.   I have my favorite blogs bookmarked to my homepage so all I have to do is click and read. 

I always start off with my favorite, Lisa L. Regan.  She doesn’t usually post more than once a week, but I check anyway, no matter the day, to see if she has written anything. Lisa is a writer, like me, and has written two books.  One of them, Finding Claire Fletcher, is now out on submission to various publishing houses and waiting to be picked up.  It is a fantastic read.  I met Lisa through former lit agent, Nathan Bransford’s blog forum.  She answered a post I made requesting a critique partner and we became fast friends.  In fact, she is one of my closest friends ever.  She has taught me a lot about writing, editing, critiquing and querying, as well as what it means to be a genuine friend.  She is the shoulder I always cry on when the process of writing and querying becomes too much or when I get bad news.  She is also the one I turn to when I have good news or just don’t know what to do next.  She blogs about all things writing, querying for an agent, good books to read, as well as her personal history.  I have come a long way because of her and cherish every word she writes.  We consider each other writing soul mates.  Check her out if you have the chance.

            The second blog I check out is Bookends, a literary agency blog.  I find Jessica Faust shares a lot of good information about querying for an agent and writing in general, as well as the life of a literary agent, all of which I find helpful and very interesting.  And her posts are generally very brief and to the point.  She has a long list of topics on her blog that any writer would find both helpful and fascinating.  And she's a no-nonsense kind of gal.  I really like that in an agent.

            After that, I tune into NatalieWhipple’s blog, Between Fact and Fiction.  She is another writer.  She writes Young Adult fiction, mostly fantasy or paranormal stuff, which is not really up my alley, but she is very personable and witty and she often writes about the trials and tribulations of writing, landing and losing an agent, being out on submission and rejection.  All the things I am most interested at this time.  Her insight is valuable and I take strength in her tenacity and fortitude.  And now she is aspiring to create a place where we writers can meet and hook up with critique partners who work in our specific genre.  I wish she had done that back in October.  Oh well, my loss.

            Next comes Dystel & Goderich’s blog.  They are a literary agency and usually have multiple daily posts about agenting and querying for an agent, as well as all things related to the publishing business.  It’s nice to have so many different perspectives to read among. 

            Others I read from time to time are The Rejectionist, who just left her position as an agent assistant to pursue her writing career.  She is hilarious and gives a lot of insight into the whole querying process.  I’m sad that I did not start following her earlier.  I also love Kristin Nelson’s  PubRants.  She is also a lit agent and she rants about all things associated with the publishing industry.  I really like her even though she rejected my query.  Her agency doesn’t really rep my kind of book, but I thought I’d give her a shot any way. 

A few others are Jennifer Hubbard (very sweet), Betsy Lerner (very tough), Adam Heine (very funny) and most especially Nathan Bransford whose blog taught me so much before I knew of anyone else or had any clue as to what I was doing.  He is the god of all agent bloggers though he quit agenting and now works for CNET.  He is very popular with 5000 followers.  (I have 4, all of whom I am eternally grateful for.)  And on weekends, I always go to literary agent Janet Reid’s Query Shark where aspiring writers send in their queries in progress for public humiliation and evaluation.  Too funny and actually very helpful.  By example, she tells you exactly what you should not do when querying for an agent.  Last weekend, she wrote an example of a perfect query, using the Bible as her work.  Both hilarious and insightful.    

            Last, but certainly not least, I read and follow Anne Mini’s Author! Author! blog.  She’s like Nathan Bransford on steroids.  A lot of steroids!  I only wish I had discovered her first.  She is a writer who grew up in the Bay Area, like me, and now lives in Seattle, also like me.   Her memoir, A Family Darkly: Love, Loss, and the Final Passions of Philip K. Dick, won the 2004 Zola Award, the Pacific Northwest Writers’ Association’s highest honor for a nonfiction book. She has also won numerous writing fellowships.  Anne, also an editor, has been blogging since 2005 and has covered and recovered every topic you could ever think of regarding writing, editing, publishing, querying and agenting, as well as a myriad of other related topics.  Her blog archives are so extensive and thorough, she could publish it into a virtual encyclopedia on all things writing.  I’ve been trolling through her posts for months and I’ve barely scratched the surface on all the things she knows.  And what I love best about her is that whenever I post a comment, she always writes back.  ALWAYS!  I absolutely LOVE her!  Her posts do tend to be rather long, but I find I get sucked in every time because she is so thorough and knows exactly what my questions will be.  I can tell she’s been there and done that.  Every aspiring writer should definitely check her out.

            I do have others I read occasionally and I am always looking for other blogs related to writing, agenting and publishing.  Let me know if you have one I should follow.

Going All the Way

            First, an update:  Last December, I had a referral from my friend to her literary agent.  Respectfully obliging her client, the agent, who received my query through my friend, requested I send her my full manuscript.  After having it for nearly a month, however, she politely declined.  I was hoping for some feedback, but I understand she is a very busy agent and most likely could not afford the time.  I am still very grateful for the read and opportunity.

            Yesterday, I began the long process of querying for an agent in earnest.  I sent out 11 queries (10 email and 1 snail mail.)  I was a nervous wreck the entire time, checking and rechecking the addresses and the salutations to make sure they matched, confirming I had the proper materials within the body of the email or attached them as requested, and just generally making sure each email was professional and touched on the reason I sent it to that particular agent.  Each time I hit that send button, my gut twisted into knots.  But I made a good start for my first week and I felt good about it, no matter my nerves.

            I walked out of my office and got cleaned up to go to the post office so I could mail my standard query.  When I was leaving, literally walking out the door, my phone chimed, announcing I had a new email.  As was usual for me, I opened the email, which was sent to my Gmail account, the same one I use to send out queries since my Hotmail account screws with the formatting. I saw that it was from one of the agents I had just queried.  I opened it, expecting to see either a confirmation of receipt or, more likely, a rejection, though since it was only an hour after I had sent it, even that would be unusual.

But low and behold, it was a request.  For a full manuscript, no less.  Well, my first reaction was to scream and jump about the room like a complete lunatic.  My seventeen-year-old son thought I was being murdered or something.  I know it seems silly to react so, but it was a request for a full after only one hour when this agent’s website noted to expect replies in 6-8 weeks.  So I was a little happy.  Go figure.   

            Now, I respect this agent more than you could know.  That’s why she was included in my first batch of queries.  And while I realize this is an astronomical long shot, it felt really good to have a response to my query.  It told me that it was a decent query, one that sparked the interest of a very important agent.  I can only hope and dream that there will be others who respond likewise.  Honestly, it was quite a shock to have a response at all, especially from someone who has been so influential in the business.  I am quite humbled by it.  Especially, again, since it came only an hour or so after I sent it. 

I can’t help but wonder what it means.  Was it the query itself?  Did she read my synopsis or included chapters?  What piqued her interest exactly?  I don’t know.  I wish I did.  But I am just grateful to have another set of eyes on my manuscript.  I’m trying to keep my feet on the ground, knowing that it is not at all likely that she would ever choose me, but an aspiring writer can dream.  

Now I have to keep plugging along and prepare my list for the next batch of agents to query.  Every time I hear that chime, I will wonder if it is someone sending me a rejection, which, from what I hear, is the most likely response.  I know from reading all the writer blogs and talking at length with my friend and writing soul mate extraordinaire, Lisa Regan, that I will likely receive hundreds of rejections and perhaps a few requests for partials thrown in.  I’ve been trying to prepare myself mentally for this long, arduous and challenging process.  I can’t wait to see what the coming weeks and months will bring, but at the same time, I am terrified because this is the biggest dream I have ever held for myself.  This is not about making money; writing novels does not lend itself to this purpose.  I just want someone to read my book, to enjoy and remember it.  Just having written it is an accomplishment and I am proud of it, but I want more.  I want to go all the way!

My New Happy Place

            Before I get into my next post, I should say that I have spent the last four days deliberating whether or not I should remove my last post, “Jealous Much?”  That’s not to say that I don’t still hold that opinion, because I do, but I question my own wisdom at having posted such blatant animosity in such a public forum.  Not that I believe that there are too many folks reading my blog, but I’m averaging about ninety a month or 3 a day.  Not too shabby for a complete unknown.  What worries me most are the literary agents who might poke their head in to take a look after they’ve received my query.  So why don’t I remove that post?  Well, I guess that’s because that post shows a part of who I am.  Happily, that is not a part I show very often, but it is there nonetheless, so the post remains, however shameful I now find it.  Now…getting down to business…

            I have spent the last week preparing query letters to be sent off beginning February 1st.  I am selecting those prime agents I most admire for whatever reason and writing queries tailored especially for each one.  I’m happy most of them accept email queries.  A few still do it the old fashion way so I find myself visiting print shops where I have my query, synopsis and sample chapters printed then stuffing large envelopes with my treasure and a self-addressed stamped envelope for their reply, hoping and praying that they actually will reply.  Emailing queries is easier, of course.  All I have to do is make copies of the files and queue them up to copy and paste into the email.  I’ve even found a few who actually want attachments which is a big surprise as most just want everything in the body of the email.  Sometimes they want fifty pages of my manuscript in the body of the email.  Boy, let me tell you, that’s one long email! 

            And that brings me to a problem I’ve been struggling with lately:  retaining proper formatting within the body of the email.  Every writer knows how utterly important proper formatting is, including me.  So I prepared a sample query, complete with copied and pasted chapters and synopsis, and sent it to myself to see what the email looked like when I opened it.  Boy, was I surprised by how messed up the formatting appeared.  Wonky, Anne Mini called it.  (She promised me she would address this issue in a forthcoming formatting blog next week.  Thank you, Anne!)  There were huge gaps between the paragraphs and the font, which I purposely set to 12-point Times New Roman, the industry standard, reset itself back to Tahoma 10 point. 

Well, I was aghast.  I certainly do not want the agents I query to think I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.  They likely won’t even look at my query, let alone my chapters or request a partial or full manuscript to read if they believe I’m not versed in industry standards.  I tried everything I could think of, but in the end, I discovered that the problem lies within the programming at Hotmail, Microsoft’s email service.  So what’s a writer to do?  Dump Hotmail, that’s what!  So now I have a Google Gmail account that I will use to send all queries.  When I tested it and sent an email to myself at both my Hotmail and Gmail accounts, the Hotmail email was distorted while the Gmail was not.  So Gmail it is!  Problem solved.  Unless my recipient agent uses Hotmail…yikes!

But I’ve been wringing my hands for other reasons, as well this week.  For three weeks, actually.  The whole reason I’m querying is because I believe my manuscript is ready, that it is as highly polished as it can be without feedback from a professional within the publishing industry.  I sent out my first query on December 28^th.  It was a referral from an agented writer friend, the very talented Lisa Regan.  Her agent received my query and requested a full (because Lisa said she loved it and her agent trusts her), which I happily obliged her with. 

Unfortunately, when I started reading through a PDF version of my manuscript, I found a few errors.  Nothing too major, one misspelling, an errant quote mark, a missing word.  Not too big of a deal, but enough that I became worried.  What’s worse is that I was always in conflict about my Jillian chapters, those three chapters (6-8) written in Jillian’s voice.  I was never satisfied with them, but since I couldn’t figure out how to fix them, I just accepted that they were okay and I moved along.  It wasn’t until I sent off my manuscript to Lisa’s agent that my stomach started doing back flips over the issue.  How could I have sent it to her when those chapters were not ready?  I’m such an idiot, but there’s no going back now.

Since then, I’ve worked with Lisa to make those three Jillian chapters sing.  They say exactly what I want them to, exactly how I want them to say it.  For the first time since completing my manuscript, I am happy.  Totally, thoroughly, 100% satisfied.  I’ve read it through one more time and cannot find anything that I would change.  But my greatest chance at landing an agent, one to whom I’ve been referred, the most common method agents use to find talent, has been tarnished.  I’m not saying blown at this point because she said she wouldn’t get back to me until February, unless she just didn’t like it, then it would be sooner.  Well, it’s January 21^st and I still haven’t heard from her so I think that’s a good sign, at this point anyway.  That is, if she’s even started reading it.  And what if she hasn’t?  God, if I could only get my final version to her.  But it’s a moot point, I’m afraid.  It is done. 

Lisa reassures me that she should have the ability to look past all that and I hope she does, that she would at least give me the opportunity to show her my revisions, but I know, above all else, that this is a lesson learned.  Don’t ever send out your manuscript until you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is ready.  You don’t want to have those feelings of regret or lose that golden opportunity that awaits you.  This process is hard enough without sabotaging yourself.

Having said all that, I am, at the very least, happy …with my book, that is.  I’ve found another happy place, my first being behind the wheel of my sporty little convertible with the top down on a warm, sunny Puget Sound day.  This is a great place to be—my new happy place.  I am ready to start querying in earnest without worrying that I messed up. 

I love my new happy place.  

Jealous Much? Why yes...yes I am!

            I am not proud to say this, but I am jealous.  I’m jealous of a young woman who has been publicly vilified for being crude, obnoxious, and the very face of self-indulgent youth gone bad.  Can you guess who I might be referring to?  No?  Well, how about Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi.  Yes, you heard me right, Snooki.  And I am quite embarrassed to say so because I hold similar opinions as to her public behavior. 

I despise the persona she portrays herself to be on the MTV reality show “Jersey Shore.”  I feel she puts a bad face on America, especially American youth.  She is kind of a laughingstock, constantly ridiculed for the way she dresses—or perhaps the way she doesn’t dress—the way she speaks, the way she socializes, even the way she tans and wears her hair.  I somewhat agree on most of those points and often wonder why she would represent herself in such a way.  Maybe because that’s the way she really is although she recently tried to convince us otherwise during her Today Show interview, explaining she only behaves that way during the summer months while visiting the Jersey shore.  I don’t really understand it, but I do know she’s paid a crapload of cash for maintaining that persona, real or otherwise.  I certainly can’t fault her (much) for that.  Okay, I can, but that’s not why I’m jealous.

What I find difficult to swallow is her latest endeavor, that of a novelist.  Yes, Snooki has written a novel called “The Shore Thing.”  Catchy right?  Now this is no memoir, mind you.  No, it is an actual novel with fictional characters loosely—okay, not so loosely, entirely—based on her and Jaywow (forgive me if I got that name wrong—I don’t actually watch her show) and—wait for it—it tells the story of their escapades while visiting the Jersey shore.  How fascinating! How original!  And while Snooki admits to having a co-writer, the well-accomplished Valerie Frankel, she boasts that she wrote it herself—in three months, no less—while she was also working on the show. 

Now I don’t find it hard to believe that Snooki wrote a novel herself, nor that she wrote it in three months.  What I find hard to swallow is that there is even an audience for such a thing.  Did she come up with this idea on her own or did one of her producers suggest it thinking it would raise more awareness of her public persona therefore making the show even more popular?  I’m embarrassed for America, that anyone would debase themselves by watching such inane and insipid drivel.  I think we like to watch people like the cast on Jersey Shore make fools of themselves so we can feel better about ourselves, but I digress. 

That’s not my problem with this whole thing. And I don’t actually have a problem with Ms. Polizzi either.  My problem is this whole “dumbing down” of America BS.  My problem is that this book was so easily published when so many talented, hard-working, well-educated writers with well thought out, highly polished stories go unpublished with the excuse being that the market for books is changing, that very few people actually buy real books any longer.  I guess the publisher’s motivation is strictly financial, foreseeing a real niche for such a novel.  (Yikes, I cringe at the thought.) 

I’ve been wondering about the agent who read Snooki’s manuscript, what she was thinking as she turned the pages.  (Click here for an excerpt of Snooki’s book.)  I doubt Snooki even had to go through the seemingly unending hell of querying for an agent.  I similarly doubt she had to shop around for a publisher either.  I think it was most likely a done deal from the word go.  How else could it have possibly happened because I don’t really think that an unknown could have accomplished what Ms. Polizzi has by getting her fictionalized account of her Jersey shore misadventures published.  I think, in this case, it’s all about who you are and who you know.

I don’t fault the publisher either, really.  I know that the business has changed and they are unsure of what the industry will bring in the coming months and years.  They are running scared because so many of the brick and mortar booksellers like Borders are collapsing and not paying the publishers for the books they’ve bought.  They cringe at the thought of newly released books selling for a mere $10 or $15 as they are on Amazon.  

I understand that the publishers are just out to make a buck like everyone else in America.  But as a writer who has slaved over her manuscript, hoping and praying to land a qualified agent who will love my story and characters as much as I do and find a publisher who feels the same, I am frustrated by the ease at which some celebrities churn out trash, making the promotional circuit on such highly regarded programs as the Today Show, The Late Show with David Letterman and The Tonight Show with Jay Leno, who, in turn, frequently ridicule such celebrities for their raunchy behavior. 

But what’s a writer to do?  I’ll just keep plugging away, keep praying and hoping to land that agent, keep blogging away hoping to raise awareness of my novel, of me.  I don’t hate Snooki for her accomplishment or begrudge her for her success.  Hate is too strong a word.  But I am jealous.  I am hella jealous.  Because that is the one and only significant dream that I hold for myself, to get published, to have someone recognize some talent in me, to love my characters and say, “Wow, I really liked that book!” 

Missing My Made-up World

            I’ve always been pretty even-keeled, emotionally speaking.  I rarely have mood swings and I’m generally always happy.  I was, and still am, a very optimistic person, always looking on the bright side of things.  But things have changed in the last six months and for some reason, I always feel like I’m walking on a knife’s edge, fearing that any minute I will fall into an abyss I cannot even see.  Nothing much has changed in the last year except for one thing:  I’ve written a novel—a highly charged, emotionally provocative novel.  And I’ve been living in the world I’ve created for my characters all day, everyday for the last nine months. 

            So in essence, I’ve lost my parents and young sister in a tragic accident caused by my brother who I now worry has become addicted to drugs while he wrestles with gun-toting thugs in San Francisco’s Russian mafia.  I’ve suffered the loss of my wife after she became entangled in the aftermath of a criminal case of fraud brought on by the heartless disdain of a greedy woman.  I’ve spiraled into extreme alcoholism dealing with her loss and have subsequently thrown myself on a reckless course of retribution, drunkenly mistaking an innocent woman and ruining her life.  And then I had to go on the run in order to protect her from the gangsters who seek to enslave her while also trying to negotiate my brother’s freedom from the Russian’s who are using him as leverage in order to get their hands on the woman whose life I’ve ruined. 

            So tell me, is it any wonder I’ve been feeling a bit blue lately? 

Living in their world is exciting, allowing me to escape from the mundane day to day life of a stay-at-home mom whose child is more of an adult and whose business has nearly dried up in the aftermath of the economic meltdown.  My characters have become real to me and though they are each flawed—two dangerously so—I have come to love them with all my heart.  I might even go so far as to say I am in love with one of them.  (Crazy, I know.)  This is my life.  Everyday.  And I sometimes think I’m going freaking insane. 

            But what I’ve come to understand is that this is not unusual.  It seems to be a real pitfall of being a writer.  Sometimes I’m not so sure I like this life of a writer.  It is way too emotional, way too unbalanced, and way too scary.  I wish I could be ignorantly happy again, the way I used to be when all I did was sit at my computer and design fabulous interior spaces, chatting on the phone with clients and colleagues.  Or even after that when my business started to dry up, when I used to spend my days cooking and baking in order to satisfy that basic need inside me to create something special out of something ordinary. 

But now that I’ve written this book, I fear that I can never go back to who I used to be.  I’m still that woman.  She’s still in there.  I still do design work, especially now that the economy is perking up a bit.  But for some reason, it is just not at all satisfying any longer.  I crave the excitement of that crazy, dangerous world I’ve created.  But since I’ve pretty much wrapped up my novel and am seeking representation, I don’t get to spend any time with my characters any more.  And I can’t tell you how sad that makes me.  How lonely I am for them. 

But having said all that, I could not imagine not writing.  Even with all the turmoil, I crave nothing more than to spend my day at my keyboard creating exciting adventures and dangerous complications for my seriously damaged characters.  I want to send them into danger and see if they can fight their way out.  I want to experience their joy of lying in the arms of their loved ones and I want to feel their triumph when they overcome the insurmountable odds I’ve placed against them.  I have some understanding now why so many famous writers have slipped over the edge.  It is a tumultuous condition to live in, but I’ve experienced the highest highs and lowest lows and I feel that I’m living the life I really want to live. 

           Now if I could only make a living at it. 

Finding My Book's Theme: Forgiveness

When I was reading Stephen King’s “On Writing” last month, I came across a passage on “thematic thinking” and it prompted me to contemplate my own work, to discover what exactly the theme of “The Mistaken” really is.  When I started writing it, I asked myself one fundamental question, “Could a genuinely good man be driven to do something truly evil and somehow find his way back to the man he once was?”  I certainly hope my story is believable.  I charted the man’s path and man him struggle with some pretty significant problems, but in the end, it all came down to one thing:  forgiveness.

Since I was first thrown on my journey, and by that I mean since I started this whole “I think I’ll write a book” thing, I’ve wondered why I ever thought to do it in the first place.  I’ve stated in earlier blog posts that this whole experience was extraordinarily surreal, that I’ve felt possessed by some force outside myself to write this story.  It was as if someone stood over my shoulder and whispered in my ear everyday exactly what I should be writing.  Because I certainly could never have come up with this stuff on my own, right?  Where did it come from?  I simply woke up one morning and the story was just there.  But why?  Why all of the sudden was it “just there”?

I’ve thought about that nearly every day since I first started writing because it feels like this is something I am supposed to do.  Am I supposed to do it to share a message?  Was I sent on this path to accomplish something personal?  Or perhaps I was meant to meet someone in particular?  Because I have met a few remarkable folks along the way, most notably my friend, Lisa.  She is what has stuck with me most on my journey.

I met Lisa Regan while searching for critique partners in Nathan Bransford’s blog forum.  Along with a few others, she responded to my post and a relationship was born.  She took me down paths I never would have otherwise even seen, prompting me to truly express myself, to become a better writer.  But more than anything else, she became my greatest confidant.  I consider her a great blessing, a truly wonderful friend.  Was I supposed to meet her?  Is that why I was hurled on this journey?  That would be fine with me, even if nothing else ever came of my writing this book, but I still can’t help but think there is something more to it.  I’d like to think that I was simply meant to write this novel.  Period.  But I wonder.  Is it the message itself that was supposed to reveal itself to me?

Twenty-six plus years ago, I had a child, a beautiful baby girl.  I wanted nothing more than to keep her, but circumstances, such as they were, worked against me and my parents, my father mostly, pushed me into adoption.  Because I was the ever-obedient daughter—or trying to be anyway—I went along with the idea, though it had to be on my own terms.  After an exhaustive search, I chose who her parents would be.  And after all these years, she seems to have blossomed into a wonderful young woman, currently serving in the Peace Corps in Thailand.  I try to believe I made the right choice, at least for her.  But down deep inside—subconsciously, at least—I hold a tremendous amount of anger and resentment toward my father.  I know this because in twenty-six years, I have never had one nice dream about him.  Every one is filled with anger and resentment even though I love my father dearly.  It’s never affected my relationship with him, but it’s there nonetheless. 

So, after reading Stephen King’s book, I began to ponder on the theme on my own book.  Forgiveness.  My whole story hinges on that element.  Skylar Karras, the protagonist, simply cannot move forward and get on with his life unless he learns to forgive, both others who have affected his life, and more importantly, himself.  I never meant to write a novel with a theme and I never even saw the theme revealing itself to me, even as I was actually writing it.  Lisa Regan somehow pulled that out of me by asking me to explain a few points that bothered her.  And viola!   There it was, the whole message of my book. 

Now I am wondering if that is the message on my journey, as well.  Is this what I am supposed to take away from this extraordinary experience?  Am I supposed to forgive my father so I can move on with my own life as far as my own daughter is concerned, so that I can truly love my dad like a daughter is supposed to?  I am crying here as I write this because I just don’t know.  I don’t know if that is what I am supposed to take away from this.  And I don’t know if I can actually do that, forgive on a subconscious level.  I want to, desperately so.  Because like my dear Skylar, I need to move on. 

I still want to believe that I was meant to write this story so that it may be published.  It is the greatest dream I hold for myself.  I want to do this in the traditional way, even though the publishing industry is in such a tremednous transition that it seems downright impossible.  Even finding an agent sometimes seems futile, especially after reading all the horror stories out there of un-agented writers still querying after many, many years. 

I am trying to follow the path I believe God has sent me down.  I swear I can feel His hand at my back sometimes.  I am trying to keep the faith, to believe in myself.  And I am trying to find my way and forgive the one thing that still burns in my heart after twenty-six years, three months and twelve days.